I was watching television today when yet another commercial for a two-year technical school comes on with another person’s “real-life account” of how the school changed their lives.  Now, I have nothing against two-year technical schools (hell, one of the most successful people I know graduated from one), but these commercials crack me up.  In every commercial, the people telling about how much their school changed their lives don’t say anything they love about their career or why they do it.  It’s always just the same story of “My life sucked.  I went to *3-letter abbreviated school that ends with a “U” or “Tech” so it sounds official*, and now I’m making more money, so it doesn’t suck.

None of them talk about why they like computer-aided drafting, courtroom typing, etc.  All of them just talk about why their life doesn’t suck anymore since they’re making money, mixed in with some random facts that have nothing to do with their education.

“My life used to be really difficult.  I would cook pop tarts off my car’s radiator, and when my car wouldn’t start, I would eat them cold.  I was living in a port-a-potty between 5 p.m. and 4 a.m. when the construction workers weren’t on-site, and would since Kenny Loggins songs in the subway for nickels.  Well, one day I was talking to my friend Beth who told me about *Whatever school name*, and I thought I’d check it out.  Two years later, I’m a computer-aided drafting…er.  Now I have money to rent a modest apartment in a mid-level crime neighborhood.  Plus, my dog just turned two, I found four dollars in a pair of (someone else’s) jeans at the laundromat the other day, and it’s not raining today! I couldn’t be happier with my decision to go to *school*!!”

What….the….hell….These people make their lives sound like a low-budget version of “8 Mile” and make their 2-year school sound like some sort of a rehab center for crappy lives.  Last I checked, if you want to go to school and you’re going to spend a decent amount of money on it, you should go for something you like.  That way, when the school contacts you to make a commercial, they can shoot video of you acting like a professional at work and enjoying your job…not playing fucking drums in a band while your family members dance around, or walking around an amusement park with friends.  I didn’t catch the “Drum-playing” or “Lazy-ass walking” degree when I saw the list of 8 disciplines the school offers during their continuous commercials between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. on weekdays.

So, let’s summarize: if you’re in a commercial for a school whose address includes a “suite number,” show yourself actually working and talking about what you like about your job…not how you’re a recovering suck-addict who is now making a lot more and can afford ice (just like the rich people use to keep their drinks cold!)

So I’m watching tv the other day when, as usual, I’m bombarded with some sort of television ads for some new prescription medication, which just confuses me in the first place.  I thought doctors wrote prescriptions for something that would work best…I didn’t know we had the power to go in and solicit our doctors for the drug with the best ad campaign.  Kind of makes it like shopping for pills, with our favorite brands being based on the happiest television actors.

Anyways, the ad made me realize a major flaw with each one of these commercials…the fact that the pharmaceutical companies have to read off all potential side effects.  Now, putting side effects on a label…these are usually skipped.  But having an announcer read them on a tv commercial kind of makes them stick out.  Nothing’s more terrifying than watching a couple skip through a grassy field with big smiles on their face as a narrator says “Abdominal bleeding, anal leakage, blurred vision, dizziness and tremors, sexual problems…”

That happy couple doesn’t seem so happy anymore.  Wait a minute…what do you mean blurred vision?  That couple just ran threw an enchanted forest, and neither one of them ran straight into a tree.  And I can understand dizziness, but “tremors”?  Are underground creatures from a bad ’90s movie just a part of taking a new medication?

If they really are just forced to read these side effects for full disclosure by law, they should use something a little more engaging than a couple running around doing happy things while the people watching the commercial imagine the two of them with anal leakage and abdominal bleeding.  Maybe they could put a jumble or a Wheel of Fortune puzzle up on the screen for people to solve while they’re running threw the list. 

“A *blank* in hand is worth *blank* in the *blank*?  Hmmm….I know I know this, I just have to think.  Wait, did they say “brain decay” was a side effect?  I’ll worry about that later…I have to get this puzzle.  A bush in the hand is worth two in the bush?  Damnit…”

All over the news recently, there’s been reports that Kim Jong-Il may be dead, and that he’s just using body doubles and look-alikes to trick the country into thinking he’s still around.

The difference between me and others is, when they hear it, they say, “Wow, that would change a lot of things if he were dead,” and I keep thinking, “Holy shit…a body double?  That would kick so much ass.”

Basically all the arch-villain-esque bad guys had them…Kim Jong-Il, Saddam Hussein, Fidel Castro, etc.

Did they hold casting calls for these people, or did they just wait until they saw someone on the street that looked like Castro and said, “Whoa…grab that guy.  We may need a back-up Castro at some point.”

And how awesome would it be to be a back-up world figure?  Sure, you’d be there in case anyone took a shot at you, but you would have a ton of make-believe power.  Screaming fans, world notoriety…it would be like if they swapped you into a rock band without anyone noticing, and all you had to do was smile and wave.

Anyways, this also got me thinking that I want a look-alike to make public appearances for me when I don’t feel like doing something.  I want a back-up at a boring dinner party making an appearance for a few minutes, smiling and waving, and then leaving.  And then the fake-me can go back to his small, one-bedroom apartment, watch an episode of Becker, and wind down from his exciting foray as me.

I think going from playing Fidel Castro in public to coming home would be a little tough, also.  One second, you’re standing in front of a massive crowd of people, pretending to be a country’s leader, and the next second you’re back at your tiny house, having your wife yell at you to take out the trash.

“Don’t give me that Castro shit!  You smiled and waved to people while I stayed at home with the kids all day.  Now get off your ass and take out the trash.  And take off that stupid hat!”

Smarties are absolutely the currency of candy.  Those chalky, disgusting disc-shaped abortions of sugar are easily the worst candy invention ever made.  Nobody eats them, nobody likes them.  That’s why they’re used for currency.  Halloween?  Give them smarties.  Birthday at work?  Give them smarties.  There is no better way to show someone that you appreciate them less than a penny than by giving them a package of smarties.  At least bump that appreciation up to a nickle and give them some Hershey’s Kisses.  Nobody ever eats smarties either.  If you receive them, you immediately give them away to someone.  Then that person hands them off to someone else.  It’s like the chain letter of shitty candy……if you receive it, you have only a limited amount of time to pass those things off to someone else.  Then, mysteriously, when you do find someone that actually likes those little pieces of ass, they never like the white ones.  The company that makes smarties could have changed the flavor of white to creme brulee years ago and nobody would have ever known because nobody will touch them.  So the next time you’re celebrating something at work or debating what candy to hand out on Halloween, spare somebody the hassle of handing away their tube-like package of shit discs and cough up the extra scrilla for some fucking mini snickers.

Want to know what a brilliant business idea looks like? Go buy a Lunchables. Brilliant. I can see the Lunchables factory the first day it opened…..lots of machines, a conveyer belt, and 200 assembly workers. Then, just before the day begins, the CEO takes a look at the assembly workers and says, “Wait a minute……all of you can fuck off. We’re going to have our customers do your job.” And so begins the process where after buying a Cracker Stacker, you must assemble the entire thing yourself. If it came pre-assembled, you would realize you just paid $3 for 8 crackers, some lunch meat, and some tiny slices of cheese. But by forcing you to put it together yourself, they trick you in to thinking you’re sitting down to some buffet of greatness. Then they thought of even more ways to fuck with the consumers…..They wouldn’t actually make their own pizza, would they? Check. Ok, but there’s no way they would make their own taco. Done. These things are the fucking Macguyvers of school lunches. Lunchables should kick it up a step though and start selling packages with just monofilament fishing line, a paper clip, and some electrical tape….forcing kids to snare and kill their own lunch to eat. I mean, people groan when they see that “Some assembly required” disclaimer on toys…..why the fuck would they want that on their lunch? Who wants to buy a product that unavoidably turns the consumer in to a lunch lady? But, if this is what people want to do, I’m ready for them and I’m going to beat Lunchables to the punch. I’m just going to start packaging a dead fish. That’s right, kids! X’s fun lunch! All you have to do is fillet the fish, remove the innards, cut off the head and tail, butter and cover in flour and spices, and fry! Then you can eat it! Wasn’t that easy?!?! In addition, each dead fish will be packaged with a tiny pouch of Capri Sun and an Andes mint for dessert.

Who the hell keeps whatever company that makes “NOW that’s what I call music volume blah” in business still?  Do they realize they’re buying a mix tape?  Do they realize that they can go download those songs on their computer and make their own NOW cd?  Do they realize that they can put whatever songs on their own mix cd they want instead of skipping Enrique Iglesias every time they listen to it?  Not to mention that these cd’s are pure shit.  Rihanna?  Fuck off.  Fergie?  Shoot me.  Gym Class Heroes?  If I hear that girlfriend song one more fucking time I’m going to drop kick the first person I see.  Garbage music on a cd that you could easily burn yourself?  And they’re up to volume 67.  VOLUME 67!!!!  I’m pretty sure the producers of these cds are two teenage girls sitting in their pink bedroom and burning a cd with all of their slut-tastic songs on it.  Even the title sounds like it was thought up by some sort of pre-pubescent.  If you’ve ever bought one of these cds, I want you to follow these steps:
1.)  Bash something solid against your head 32 times.
2.)  Send me a personal apology along with a self-addressed stamped envelope so I can send you back a picture of me with a condescending look on my face.  You keep that picture in your wallet at all times so you can know how disappointed I am in you.
3.)  Next time you get the urge to listen to “good” music, send me $15 and I will send you a burned cd with some actual good music on it where the lyrics aren’t literally spelled out for you and the musicians (Wait, what’s that?) write their own stuff and play their own instruments.

Do you think that those Kidz Bop CDs are made in a sweatshop overseas also?  Like they just get a large group of children together, hand them lyrics and scream, “SING!  AND SOUND ABNORMALLY HAPPY!” and then send them each home with like 3 cents a day.  I can’t understand why any kid would want to hear a large group of kids sing songs that have a fun title, but rather disturbing lyrics.  Call me weird, but I would be a little creeped out hearing kids sing “Smack That.”  Also, are these cds being marketed towards kids or perverts?  When you really think about the fact that these cds are taking music that’s already out there and just having it sung by a large group of children, it’s kind of creepy.  You can just imagine the guy with a thin moustache and darty eyes walking in to a music store and saying, “Oh, hey, yeah.  Do you have that CD with those large groups of children singing popular songs of today?  Preferably the cd where they sing Candy by Mandy Moore?”

My girlfriend said something to me once that really stuck with me.  We were at Worlds of Fun waiting for a ride and kept noticing all of these older guys with these really young girls that looked like they were fresh out of the 7th grade.  With my girlfriend being 2 years younger than me, she felt this would be a good time to lean in close and whisper in my ear, “I’m going to get braces so people think you’re a pervert.”
Seriously, are these young girls really as young as they look, or are they fucking with these guys who are dating with them?  I mean, here you have a guy that looks like he’s growing the “See?  I can grow one too!” moustache, and a girl who’s wearing Crocs and a ringpop.  One  of these two are not acting their age, and I’m guessing it’s the girl.  Ladies, if you’re dating an older guy, don’t make him look like a skeevy playground-dweller by wearing lip smackers and friendship bracelets.  Nothing stamps “pedophile” on a guy’s head faster than a Spongebob t-shirt or a pink Swatch.  Just leave the poor guy alone and quit making people stare at him and contemplate pulling a “citizen’s arrest” to get a guy that looks like he should be getting paid to babysit away from a girl who’s rocking an Avril Lavigne t-shirt.  Seriously, nobody above the age of 14 listens to her, so people automatically assume your boyfriend is a statutory rapist.  And guys…want to help your case?  Stop growing the pedophile moustache.  I don’t care if you can only grow hair on your lip…..shave it off so you don’t look like a guy who drives a van and still sleeps on a water bed.  If you just follow these easy instructions, you will stop getting the disgusted look by people on the street and you will stop fathers from looking at you and immediately calling their daughters to ask, “Where the fuck are you?”

You ever met somebody that was really in to renaissance fairs?  They’d get all dressed up in this fucked up garb and go hang out with people that would talk weird, dress weird, and act weird?  Those are some messed up people.  I mean, why would anyone want to go back to the time that nobody brushed their teeth and the prime form of entertainment was juggling?  Nope.  Fucked up.  That’s why I’ve come up with the ultimate solution.  The greatest era has already come and gone, so we should go back and celebrate that time.  That’s right, I’m talking about “The 1990s Renaissance Fair - It’s da bomb!”
People wandering around listening to the Spin Doctors and Harvey Danger.  TV’s in booths surrounding the area playing reruns of the X-files, Friends, and Dawson’s Creek.  Everyone’s just hanging out….rocking their plaid shirts unbuttoned over a colorful t-shirt, having a good time while saluting a bygone era of awesomeness.  Get tired of watching reruns of old tv shows?  Go play some Pogs with a bunch of other old people who have nothing better to do on a Saturday than pretend they’ve time-travelled to the 90s.  And you know what?  Those Shakespeare-esque renaissance people will be jealous as hell.  Why?  Because over at their fair, people will be eating hog on a stick while listening to some guy recite poetry and juggle.  Then, over at the awesome 90s fair, we’d have a bunch of people moshing and listening to Korn while we all eat Rodeo cheeseburgers.  Check mate, Renaissance fair.  Talk to the hand.

Ok, why the hell do boxers wear robes before they start fighting?  Is it a comfort thing?  Is it a mockery thing?  I know it would be pretty humiliating to be beaten up by someone that looked so damn comfortable ahead of time.  And if it is a comfort thing, why don’t they go the whole nine yards and throw on some slippers ahead of time?  Maybe make that robe terry cloth.  Wear one of those night caps that you see absolutely fucking nowhere except for in “A Christmas Carol” on Scrooge’s head every year.  Do people actually wear those?  Seriously?  A stocking cap to bed?  Shit, I’m getting off track here, bare with me.
If I was a boxer, I think I would come out in footy pajamas.  Oh yeah?  You think you’re comfortable in your robe?  Well you’re in for a world of pain now because I’m wearing the top echelon of comfort.  Now give me 45 minutes while my trainer gets these off me.  Damnit, I hope he doesn’t zip up my junk in the zipper again.